


Gilgamesh

by DeanJHarrison



Series: World History (And Pay Attention, You Will Be Graded) [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale loves books, Books, Gen, Gilgamesh - Freeform, Legends, Part of the 6000 year slow burn, The World's First Epic, Writing, stories
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-08
Updated: 2019-11-08
Packaged: 2021-01-25 07:40:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21352630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeanJHarrison/pseuds/DeanJHarrison
Summary: Hell wasn't happy that Crowley hadn't realised the humans were sinning enough to receive the Almighty's Great Flood. It turns out that too many overt sins actually cost Hell souls in the long run. Therefore, he had been keeping an eye on the area, and that is how he notices a certain angel had surreptitiously snuck into Uruk. Interest piqued, he approaches.____Bespoke, my friends, Aziraphale is the reason why we even have books!
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: World History (And Pay Attention, You Will Be Graded) [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1436803
Comments: 2
Kudos: 25





	Gilgamesh

**Author's Note:**

> Some of this history might be a bit off to serve my own purposes, and I'm not sure anyone knows the writer/writers responsible for writing Gilgamesh, thus I made up this OC.  
Please enjoy!

Crowley pulled his robes closer to himself against the chill as he slowed his stroll, squinting.

Uruk had become a high priority after the Great Flood, Hell not being particularly happy that Crowley somehow missed a whole nation sinning so much as to anger God into near-extinction. So, he had been keeping tabs on the area, just in case.

Now what had caught his attention was the return of the angel Aziraphale.

After witnessing the Floods and ensuring that one family survived and could begin repopulating, Aziraphale had disappeared. Crowley just assumed he had moved on to another assignment or whatnot, which was why he was bemused to find the angel had returned, apparently stealthily and seemingly careful to not let his presence be known.

Crowley stuck to the shadows down a rough road off the village's centre and observed.

"Come now, my dear man," Aziraphale was pleading with a very drunk human.

The man slurred something unintelligible and slumped further down the stone siding of a watering hole.

"Poor fellow," Aziraphale sighed. "I understand, I  _ do _ , but you can't keep going like this."

The drunker mumbled angrily and swatted at the angel as he tried to help the man up. The angel gracefully side-stepped him, almost as though this was now routine, and was able to put an arm around the man's waist and haul him upward.

The man looked ready to fight Aziraphale, so Crowley decided to take this moment to approach.

"Aziraphale?" he opened, stepping out from the shadows. "Taken to rehabilitation work?"

Crowley's appearance was able to surprise the man into proper drunken submission in the angel's good arms, but it also caused Aziraphale to jump like someone well and truly caught.

"Cr-Crawly? Ah. Hello." The angel gulped, and Crowley could see the unease and guilt weighing on him. "Wh-what are you… doing… here?"

"Keeping an eye on Uruk, after…" he trailed off, waving vaguely in an attempt to reference the last they met.

Aziraphale flinched openly. "Ah. Yes. Well…"

The man in the angel's arms burped loudly and his head rolled backward.

Sighing, the angel tightened his hold around him. "I'll have to make sure he washes in the morning. I'm afraid for tonight, I can only take him home."

Crowley frowned deeply. "Who is he?"

"Baqqanum," Aziraphale answered in exacerbated fondness.

Crowley wrinkled his nose, taking in the dirty, smelly, extremely intoxicated human. "Is he… important?" If he was so important to Heaven, Crowley clearly had plenty to work with to tempt him away from that fate.

Aziraphale shot Crowley a worried and guilty look. It was familiar to Crowley, reminding him of when the angel once told him he gave his flaming sword away, way back at the beginning. There was still that unlining discomfort that surrounded the angel the last time they met as well, but this was something different. This was something… not quite rebellious, but definitely a hint of defiance, just like from the garden.

"Not… really," Aziraphale admitted, tightening his hold as the man quite readily passed out. "I doubt history will even remember him in the end."

"Then why are you bothering?"

"If you must know, this man happens to be very creative. With some very interesting ideas. In fact," the angel straightened, the defiance clearly growing in him, "I would call him a proper genius."

The Proper Genius made a grunting sort of snort, drool rolling down his chin. Amusement spread through Crowley, and he pressed his lips together. "A genius… I'm sure."

Aziraphale shifted almost shily on the spot. "Well, he is when he's not drinking," the angel defended.

"Is that right? And how often is he not drinking?"

Aziraphale cleared his throat. "He's… working on it."

Crowley chuckled. "What exactly are you up to, angel?"

"I have to get him home," Aziraphale said instead of answering.

"Want a hand?"

"From a demon?" Aziraphale raised an eyebrow. "No thank you."

"Come on, you wouldn't want this Proper Genius to stain your robes."

Aziraphale seemed to sincerely consider that, looking down at his white robes, shockingly more white compared to the filthy human in his arms. The angel looked back up at him, more curious than distrustful. Crowley smirked and snapped his fingers, levitating the human. It actually took more focus than he was prepared for, but it worked in the end.

"Well, alright," Aziraphale sighed. "This way then."

The angel led them down a few winding roads until they reached a type of bedsit. No one paid them any attention as they weaved their way deep into the building, stopping only when they reached this man's apparent pile of rags. It shared a similar stench, and Crowley gently laid the snoring drunk down there.

"You don't expect me to hang around here for you to explain?" Crowley accused, wrinkling his nose and looking around at the groups of impoverished… addicts? Or so it looked like it. Sweet Satan, don't tell him they had begun to group themselves together.

"No, of course not," Aziraphale agreed, miracling a jug of water beside the man along with an empty bucket presumably for if the man got sick. The pile of rags seemed to suddenly look more comfortable as well.

"Good," Crowley said, spinning on his heels and immediately heading out. Aziraphale could take his time, but Crowley wasn't going to stick around if he could help it. He probably should just be getting on, but his curiosity was piqued and there wasn't much else around Uruk.

Aziraphale was only a couple of minutes behind, and as soon as he was on the road, he smoothed out his white robes, slightly cleaning them.

"Well?" Crowley prompted.

"It's nothing really," Aziraphale shrugged, not looking at him. "The man just needs a little help, is all. He's drowning in grief and self-pity, but he could be so creative, if only he had…"

"Help?"

"Of a type," Aziraphale said sternly. "I'm not influencing him or anything, just merely trying to help get him off the brew."

Crowley felt himself smirk, not entirely politely. "Right, and you  _ aren't _ whispering little hymns in his ear?"

"Of course not," Aziraphale sniffed. "I am simply trying to help get him sober."

"That's usually a losing battle," Crowley pointed out.

"Only because people give up! All he needs is someone to believe in him and still be there for him if and when he slips up."

"Why do you care?" Crowley asked, studying the angel. "Why this particular drunk?"

Aziraphale avoided his gaze again, wringing his hands. "I-it's nothing, really," he repeated. "It probably wouldn't catch on anyway— a-and it's not like it's going to really affect anything, to Heaven anyway. I doubt it."

"Okay," Crowley said slowly. "What have you done, Aziraphale?"

Aziraphale sighed and turned, and for a few moments, they were silent as they slowly strode down the road. "It's just… you know how some humans have invented ways to put their language on things,  _ written language _ I believe it's called."

"What, like drawing on caves?"

"Almost," Aziraphale nodded, and any tribulation or shyness vanished from the angel as his face lit up. "I mean, yes, that, and also like with the Egyptians."

"Ah, the hieroglyphs?"

"Yes," Aziraphale smiled. "We've been helping with some written language in the past, you know, to help spread the Almighty's commandments and such."

"Yes, and we helped the Egyptians," Crowley mused. He remembered it well. The first-ever successful transfer of written language between two large Egyptian cities was a penis joke, quite a funny one as well. Sure, the Egyptians mostly used it to record their religions and pass on their history, but there was also a reason why the world's first comedians were Egyptian.

"Indeed," Aziraphale agreed, clearly remembering the same thing and looked to be repressing a smile. "Well, I'm sure you have heard some of the local stories?"

Crowley frowned, shaking his head.

"None of it's real, mind. It's made-up stories - pretend. Tall tales meant to entertain?"

"What, you mean like the one with the goat-man?"

"Exactly!" Aziraphale beamed. "Uruk, like most empires, keeps writing and reading restricted to the church or monks, but Baqqanum wants to use the written language to spread  _ stories _ . Isn't that a wonderful idea?"

Crowley nodded a little, pursing his lips. That wasn't that much different from the Egyptian comedians, he figured.

"Baqqanum was going to go into the monastery, which was how he learned to read and write. War, however," Aziraphale flicked his hand as though dismissing something far too heavy to just be easily dismissed. "At any rate, he's still trying to recover. But one night, he began creating his own tale… admittedly, he was drunk, and he couldn't remember it the next day nor find anyone to properly tell him. That's how he got the idea:  _ writing _ . Can you imagine, Crawly? Written  _ stories _ ."

He clasped his hands over his heart and sighed dreamily. 

"But wouldn't that be boring? Aren't the legends or whatever more entertaining orally?"

"Perhaps, with the right orator," Aziraphale conceded although he didn't lose an ounce of his obvious joy. "But written down, more people would be able to know the story. More people would be able to act it out. And it could, in theory, spread - all around the world. Can you imagine the Chinese,  _ reading _ of Gilgamesh?"

Crowley thought about it. "They'd get Enkidu, I suppose, but I don't know about the Australian."

"So you know the legends?" Aziraphale gasped, clearly beyond thrilled.

"Eh," Crowley shrugged, now embarrassed how often he hid in the shadows while the great tales of King Gilgamesh were told over and over to the youngest generations. "I don't understand why Enkidu couldn't have stayed a half-beast."

Aziraphale opened his mouth as though to argue, but upon seeing the amusement no doubt marring Crowley's face, stopped and merely smirked back.

"So, that's what you're doing then? Trying to save a drunk from his poison just so he could write the Legends of Gilgamesh down?"

Aziraphale smiled. "I am simply helping a man get sober, no more, no less."

Crowley chuckled. "You sly angel. I would think the Almighty would want the written word to stay under Their influence."

"Oh, no, Heaven really couldn't care less," Aziraphale answered happily.

"Hm," Crowley stroked his chin. If Heaven didn't care, then perhaps Hell needed to. If one story could be made available for everyone in the world, well… that could be pretty powerful-

"Don't you dare," Aziraphale suddenly snapped. Crowley jerked his head around and was surprised to find a fierce-looking angel staring him down. He turned slightly to face him as Aziraphale had stopped walking.

"Beg your pardon?"

"Don't you dare, Crawly."

"Crowley."

"Crowley, whatever! You leave that man alone."

Crowley spread his arms. "I didn't say anything."

"No, but you're thinking it. Keep you demon paws away, Crowley."

"What, like my 'demon paws' would ruin it?"

"You are a demon, after all."

Crowley snorted, a brief bitterness flickering through him. He hadn't realised how easy it was to forget  _ what _ he was around the angel. "Fine," he spat. "I'll keep away from your pet project."

Aziraphale seemed to deflate a little. "I… Sorry, I d-didn't mean—"

"Forget it," Crowley growled, spinning on the spot and prepared to stomp away.

And he was very sure the angel was going to let him, but he was only four stomps away before Aziraphale was calling out, "No, wait! Wait."

Crowley paused, but he didn't look back around. 

There was a very heavy, long silent moment, then the angel asked, so softly he would have missed it if he was human, "Is that your favourite then? Tale, I mean. The Legends of Gilgamesh?"

Crowley thought about not answering, but ultimately he decided he liked the idea of someone caring if he liked something or not. He turned his head just enough to speak over his shoulder. "What can I say? It's epic."

A decade later, humans en masse taught themselves to read all in order to read the Epic of Gilgamesh. If Crowley used his demonic power to encourage this and help them learn faster, well… no one had to be the wiser.

**Author's Note:**

> If you comment (which I hope you do), I will do my best to reply! I hope you enjoyed this. I just adore Aziraphale and Crowley through the ages.


End file.
